


Maybe Next Time

by truejaku (hereonourstreet)



Category: Free!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereonourstreet/pseuds/truejaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A really brief, general study of a Kisumi/Sousuke friendship that runs a certain course that may result in more fics or just stand alone as is for the Rest Of Time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> i really wanted to write about sousuke and kisumi because i really like them and they are my faves. but this is just a sort of general idea and i don't know if it'll ever involve more in-depth fics or not but if it does, i'd probably nail the characterization better then so if this seems a little weird, maybe it is, idk. if some of the cultural things are off too i'm sorry, i did the best i could with researching japanese college stuff -- and a big thanks to [this lovely little doofus](http://moonsterm.tumblr.com/) for help with some beta-ing. i really aim to get everything right but this was such a quick little thing that i may have missed something.
> 
> anyway here. warning for brief, explicit but undetailed smut. i love these two so much wtf

            It’s almost midnight and you suppose you should get back to your own room since you have to be up early in the morning, but there’s always something about leaving Kisumi that just – sucks. It might be that you feel like he’s your last link to life before university. You were always fairly close; even when you went to different schools the previous six years of your life, you still saw him every now and then, sometimes on purpose and sometimes by pure coincidence, but you always favored him to most of your other acquaintances – everyone but Rin, really. Not that you’d consider yourself choosing anyone over anyone else, you just always enjoyed spending time with Kisumi. It’s been a little over a year since your relationship turned into this.

            You hadn’t expected much from him the day you confronted him about revealing your shoulder injury to Nanase and whoever else from Iwatobi; he never really reacted to you, even on the occasions that you sprinkled him with genuine, unabashed, direct affection. He knows you too well, somehow, incredibly, to be shocked by anything you do or say, and he’s always about three steps ahead of you in any given situation. He’s sort of captivating in that way. And it’s not that you’ve ever wanted to be secretive about your friendship with him, but you’d be pretty embarrassed to admit just how fascinating he is to you. You’re not quite sure how you’d word it. But in any case, it doesn’t matter. He already knew. He always knew. He always will.

            He’d react to Nanase. He’d react to Nanase’s friend, the tall brunet with bright green eyes. He’d been a friend to them in junior high, after all. He’d certainly react to Rin, but never to you. You always thought of it as a good thing. A comfort thing. He didn’t need to put anything on in front of you because you didn’t expect anything from him.

            Not that he “put anything on” for anyone else – no, Kisumi was always one hundred percent genuinely Kisumi, always. But you knew the part of him that was all stretched-out limbs and taut torsos on the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but boxers and sweating after a long, somewhat fumbling make out session followed by a nervous handjob. _You_ were nervous, that is. Only a little, but still nervous. Kisumi was never nervous. You don’t think he could ever tell you were either, really, but you could see it in his heavy-lidded eyes: he knew what he was doing and he liked doing it with you. You got a feeling he liked doing it with almost anyone, but he especially liked doing it with you.

            It was the day you went over to his house after regionals that it first started, and you never saw it coming. His family was out and you stared at him with heavy eyes as he let you in and you asked if he’d told anyone about your shoulder. He immediately fluttered his eyelashes in a way you’d only ever seen him do to other people – Nanase, for example – and you found yourself sweaty-palmed in a bedroom you’d been in countless times before. It was when he ran a hand down your chest and cooed into your ear that he was _so sorry_ he let your secret slip, and how could he ever make it up to you?

            You’d gripped his wrist and asked what he was doing. You weren’t angry. You weren’t rough. You were simply shocked, confused – and worried that he thought this was necessary to placate you, when really all you meant to do was come roll your eyes at him that he made swimming with Rin difficult for you and then ask him how he was doing. You hadn’t seen him in a long time until the day he was sitting in the hallway of that hospital, and you certainly didn’t expect anything from him now. Least of all sex.

            But Kisumi knew that; Kisumi was simply asking you that day if this was something you’d like to start. You were both eighteen, about to go to college – the _same_ college, no less – and he wanted to have someone he could trust going into things. You worried that it was a bad idea, that changing the friendship to _this_ might complicate everything, and everything in your life was already plenty complicated. You thought of Rin and he could tell – because he could always tell.

            He sat you down on his bed and spoke in general terms, that your life was going to continue after high school, whether you liked it or not. He reminded you that you’d been friends with him just as long as you had been with anyone else – _Rin,_ you were sure he meant – but that you’d meet plenty of people throughout your life, that the chances that you’d already met your soul mate was pretty slim –

            You asked him if he thought you were in love with Rin. He looked at you from under his bangs as if you were the stupidest person he’d ever met. _“Aren’t you?”_ he’d asked, and you can still hear the airiness of his voice to this day in your head. _“Aren’t you? Aren’t you?”_

Weren’t you?

            You weren’t.

            Now that you look back on it, that was most of the problem.

            You weren’t in love with anyone. You never had been. You wanted to see Rin on the national stage and Nanase had gotten in his way. You resented Nanase for that, but you didn’t hate him. You told Kisumi this. The way his eyes lit up when you mentioned Nanase’s name made you scowl and that was the closest you think you’ve ever come to being in love with someone.

            You didn’t mind that everyone was friends with him. You didn’t _mind_ Nanase, as long as he kept out of Rin’s way. Once that split-second of being annoyed with Kisumi dissipated, you were back to not really caring one way or the other. You didn’t really care that Kisumi gushed about his old friend Haru. You didn’t really care that he was the only one Kisumi said he had never really been able to “crack.” You didn’t really care that Kisumi sighed wistfully as he stared out the window at the end of his ramble about Haru. You really, truly did not care.

            Kisumi touched your knee after that and then looked down at you. He climbed into your lap and asked you if you wanted him to stop. It was so quick that you’re not sure you could have figured out how to speak even if you wanted to… but you didn’t. You shook your head and that was how you spent the next thirty minutes kissing Kisumi in his bed. That was how you ended up touching him for the first time, touching him in any way that wasn’t a pat on the back or a friendly hug or a handshake. You put your hands on his chest, on his thighs, on his dick, you watched his face as he pumped into your hand and came all over you. He put his lips in the same places on you but you ripped his mouth off you by his hair before you came. It was too much to finish in his mouth or on his face, even though he really seemed to want you to.

            You asked if he was okay afterwards but he didn’t seem to register that this changed everything. You asked what made him want this out of nowhere, and he simply kissed the back of your hand and pulled your jeans back up for you.

            _“I just trust you_ ,” he’d said. _“And next time you don’t have to pull my head off so quick.”_

At the time, you were convinced that _“next time”_ was just a joke, but there was a next time. And a time after that, and several more times after that, too. There was tonight, this moment, in which you sit up in bed and reach for your jacket to go back to your place. Kisumi knows you’re going to leave immediately – it’s late. And he knows you have to be up early in the morning.

            “Is this yours?” he asks, bending over the bed to pick up a sock and hand it to you.

            “Yeah,” you say, grabbing it from him and putting it on. “Thanks.”

            “I’ll see you next weekend,” he tells you and you think for a moment and then nod. You’re riding the train back home with him next weekend.

            “Yeah,” you say again.

            “Excited to go home?”

            You get out of bed and shrug your shirt. You nod.

            “Yeah.”

            “Are you going to see Rin this time?”

            You look at the wall as you slip your jeans back on and button them up. Rin said he would wait for you to start swimming again. You haven’t been in a pool since high school.

            “No,” you tell him. “Not this time.”

            “Too bad,” he says. You turn to him and notice he’s stretched out on the bed like a cat, lithe and nimble. He played basketball and his body is so much slimmer than your own and even the ones you’re most used to, having been on the swim team for so long. You like that.

            You sit back down to slip your shoes on and as you’re tying them up, you feel Kisumi’s body against your back. He slides one hand up your side and onto your bad shoulder. He squeezes it a few times and then rubs his fingers down it, pressing into your skin enough to get a small, satisfied moan out of you. You lean back into him, melting under the pads of his fingers. He does this sometimes; massages you into physical comfort, which you think is fitting since his mere presence relaxes you into emotional comfort, too. You want him to do it forever. He uses enough pressure for you to really _feel_ it, but he’s gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt. It feels so good that you’re convinced he’s too good for you.

            “Maybe next time,” he says quickly, and then his fingers are gone. It takes you a moment to connect the two statements. _“Too bad,”_ he’d said about Rin. “ _Maybe next time.”_

He leans back against his pillows again and grins at you as you stand up to leave.

            “Yeah,” you say. “Maybe next time.”

 

 

 


End file.
